Back to good
by STIXandMANNY
Summary: Geralt had had 3 months to wallow in his regrets and guilt over words spoken on that mountain. He dreaded running into the bard again after the harsh words he'd directed at him, though crossing paths with the man was inevitable, fate hated him of late. He shouldn't have been surprised by the situation he ended up stumbling across the man in, Jaskier just seemed to attract trouble.
1. Chapter 1

Roach trudged along at a steady even pace down the muddy path, the dark clouds blanketing the sky casting an early dimming of light as evening set in. Even the songs of the birds nesting down for the night seemed dampened by the heavy drizzle falling from the clouds. Muffled by the rustling of leaves above and creaks and groans through the thicket of trees around them as their branches swayed in the picking up howl of wind. The night's chill setting in earlier due to the constant rain, not that it bothered Geralt much what with his genetic enhancements and thick layers of leather and armour.

The chestnut mare slowed with a snort and a flicker of her ear and the Witcher urged her forward with a click of tongue and a gentle shift of his heels. Though rather than pick up pace she came to a complete halt with a stomp and a shake of her head, "Roach, come on." Geralt pressed with a pull of her reins. He was weary, aching and had mud in places it didn't belong, the constant wet of the past two days was wearing on him, though he was more than thankfull for the current drizzle after the mornings thunderous downpour. While the clashing of lightning and clapping of thunder had made for a dramatic backdrop for his fight with the water hag he was hunting it had also bolstered the damn creatures own vigour and dampened his Igni spell.

He wanted nothing more than to get back to town hand over his hunt and find a warm meal and dry room for the night. He'd thought he and his steed were on the same page there but it seemed Roach wasn't in much of a hurry. A swift shake to remove some of the water from her mane and Roach's ears twitched again turning towards the trees as she picked up a sound he had obviously missed. He tuned in his own hearing, past the howling of wind and creaking of trees, to the distant growls and gurled chokes of drowners, the rain drawing them further from the water than usual. But there was no contract nor talk of the things causing any trouble in the area and he was in no mood to be looking for fights, so he geared his horse on once more.

Roach finally started moving again, only to let out a huffed whinny as she turned from the path, towards the water dwelling monsters. "What is your problem you stubborn mare?" His horse continued into the thicket towards the river, ignoring his attempts to get her back to the road. He soon gave in with a grumbled, "Fine have it your way, but you can forget the carrots I'd promised." Honestly the damn beast could be as stubborn as he was at times.

It was as they drew closer to the commotion that the dampened scent of blood found him through the rain. The scent was unmistakably human and strikingly familiar, and this time Roach obeyed as he urged her forward at a swifter pace with a terse. "Fuck."

The Witcher swiftly dismounted his horse, drawing his silver blade and applying the appropriate oil, as they drew upon the stench of rot, muck and algae. Moving through the scrub quietly as he spotted the necrophages, four in total, and while they may not be the most fearsome creatures a Witcher can come up against, in numbers they could be quite troublesome. The watery creatures clambered around the base of a tree, obviously drawn by the scent of the blood of their prey.

Which currently perched precariously on a branch of said tree in the form of one very familiar bard swathed in muddy lilac, one trouser leg stained dark by the blood that dripped to the mud and leaves below. He may be safely out of reach up a tree now but it was just as clear to the creatures below as it was Geralt that that was to change very soon. Visible shivers racked the young man's body as he clung weakly to the tree, his weakened heart beat not near as strong as it should be.

The first drowner was easily slain with a single swing of his blade which sliced the monster's head clear off, which in turn alerted the other three to his presence. One giving a gurgled shriek as it rushed him all in a flury of claws that he parried with his sword as two burrowed into the mud. The first screeching in pain as he sliced off a clawed webbed hand, his blade slicing open it's protruding stomach in the next swing, spilling its innards. Rolling to his right as the disembowelled creature fell to avoid a second as it lept forth from the mud, landing on his knees and stretching his hand out to catch it's friend with Aard as it too sprung from the mud. The usually not so effective spell catching it off balance as it leapt through the air and sending it tumbling, giving him time to focus on the one at hand.

A few strategically placed hits soon had the foe he fought joining it's slain brethren as he yanked his sword from it's chest, twisting his blade and thrusting it behind him catching the last in the chest as it tried to strike from behind. Dragging the silver weapon on a diagonal, slicing it up and through the creatures shoulder before slicing clean through the things neck with a single swift turn. Flinging the majority of the blood and slime from his sword with a flick of his wrist as he watched it's head roll across the ground, before sheathing the blade once more.

A bearly audible murmur that even the Witcher's enhanced hearing couldn't decipher quickly drew his attention back to the young man in the tree. "Jaskier." He called to the poet who had once followed him around like a lost puppy. He didn't get a reply, not that he was surprised, the stain down the bard's pants leg and the fact Geralt could smell the blood so clearly even through the rain suggested he'd already lost a great deal of it.

The conundrum of getting the other out of the tree turned out to be simple enough, as the rain drenched poet swayed in place once, then twice before the fingers griping tight to the trees bark slipped from their place. His arms falling limp at his sides before he toppled sideways out of his perch, Geralt catching the smaller man easily enough.

Lowering the sonneteer to the ground, the Witcher looked the other over, assessing the damage. A swatch of darkened crimson on Jaskier's shirt that had gone unnoticed earlier caught his attention, lifting the material revealed three long claw marks in the human's side, only mere scratches, nothing a little salve wouldn't clean up quickly enough. It was the wound on his right leg that was the main concern, gashes that tore deep into the meat of his thigh, rimmed red and heated, early signs of infection. Not surprising as a necrophages claws held more bacteria than a mange stricken wild dog bite.

The tourniquet the other had made himself at some point from a bootlace -explains the missing boot- looked to have worked wonders in slowing what once was no doubt a steady flow of blood into a slow trickle. In any case it would surfice the short trip back to town and the healer there in, so carefully slinging the smaller man over his shoulder he turned to head back to his horse. Pausing as he spotted the other's instrument laying in the sodden leaves near the base of the tree, he scooped that up too before trekking back to Roach.

The lute's leather strap was torn through making it a little harder to strap to Roach's saddlebags, but he soon enough had it secured next to the severed head that would serve proof of his successful hunt. Getting the unconscious bard and himself onto the saddle proved a little more challenging, he'd never had to sling a passed out person onto his horse then swing himself into the saddle before. The first attempt almost had the pastel clothed man slipping face first back down to the mud below as he flung him onto the horse with a little too much gusto, Geralt had nearly pulled Jaskier's pants clean off his backside in his attempt to stop the other's decent. The soft snicker Roach's let out had not gone unnoticed.

The second attempt went much smoother and he soon had them both in the saddle and Roach back on the sodden path to town, Jaskier tucked safely against his chest in attempt to get some heat back into the sonneteer's icey skin. His face may be flushed warm with fever but there was little heat anywhere else, the Witcher didn't know how long the other had been up that tree but given his current state and appearance he'd wager quite a while.

It had been three months since the two of them had parted ways, or more since he had unjustly taken all his frustrations and anger out on the bard and chased him away. Anger that Jaskier had not deserved directed at him, he wasn't even angry at the poet, he'd been angry at his situation with Yennefer, the woman herself, and most of all he'd been angry with himself. Jaskier just happened to be the unlucky participant of wrong place wrong time, and the unfortunate inability sense when and when not to open his mouth. Geralt had used him as a scapegoat to try and escape his own guilt, when in truth he had dug his own grave, he just didn't want to lay in it.

For all the bard's claims and talk of friendship, Geralt had certainly proven himself a bad one during that last adventure. Not only had he been cruel in his parting words, but he'd pretty much pushed Jaskier to the side lines every time Yen was present. He didn't even bother waking the younger man for the encounter with the dragon, the one very thing they had travelled all that way for. And while he could argue that he didn't want the bard in any danger(and there was little more dangerous than an enraged dragon) he knew that wasn't the case.

In fact Jaskier couldn't have been further from his mind that particular morning.

Geralt had had three months to wallow in his regrets and guilt over words spoken on that mountain but none more than those he'd directed at Jaskier. He wasn't naive he knew he'd bump into the bard again, he had quite the habbit of bumping into familiar faces of late, especially those he hoped to avoid. He'd been dreading crossing paths with the sonneteer and the inevitable confrontation that would come with it. He expected to eventually run into the younger man in a tavern, or the company of a noble, or at some horrid event he'd be dragged along to for what ever reason. Geralt seemed to find himself at them more frequently in recent decades, despite his distaste for such evens.

In all honestly he should have expected this, of course he'd run into Jaskier in some form of danger, the bard seemed a magnet for trouble. Luckily with Roach's aid they made it back to town by dark and Geralt had found an old farmer kind enough to give directions to the healer's cottage on the edge of the village. Tying his mount off under the old oak tree out front to offer her a little shelter from the weather, he soon had the sonneteer down from the saddle and was carting him down the path to the cottage door. He didn't need to knock, the door swinging open itself as he neared, the woman inside obviously having heard the horse approach. The scent of soup and warm toast filtered out as the door swung open and the Witcher found himself actually feeling a little bad for interrupting her evening meal.

To her credit she only faltered a moment when she caught sight of Geralt's unnatural eyes, shaking the shock off swiftly and stepping out of the road to gesture them inside. Geralt paused then, releasing a breath before telling the woman, "I've no coin to offer, not until I've handed in my current hunt and received payment."

"You are to kill the monster lurking in the mire then?" The healer asked, brows rising towards her hairline.

The Witcher's own drawing together in question. "Already have, you seem surprised?"

"I'm sorry, it's just that the last Witcher to pass through turned down the hunt when the alderman refused payment up front." The lady informed him, waving him enter.

"There was another Witcher pass through? Recently?" Geralt asked as he crossed the threshold.

"Aye, only two days past." She nodded, guiding them further into the house. "This way," she lead him to a door on their right, to a room with two narrow beds, "Either cot they're both fresh."

Geralt did as told carefully laying the smaller man on the nearest cot, as the healer worked on lighting the small hearth in the corner. "That should warm the room soon enough." She smiled, dusting her hands on her skirts before moving to dig through some nearby drawers. "I should have something clean and warm for him here, we should get him out of those wet clothes." She started over to the cot, a warm blanket and clean night shirt in hand , her warm brown eyes catching on the bard's stained leg. "May I ask what happened to your friend?"

"He was attacked by drowners, the wound in his legs deep and from the looks a day old at least." A questioning look on the woman's face had Geralt pointing out, "I found him up a tree."

She didn't question further instead focusing on the task at hand and with the two of them they soon had the poet out of his soggy muddy clothes and dressed in the clean night shirt, bunched above his injured thigh. The healer, Hilda, had smeared a layer of balm over the scratches on Jaskier's side, cleared around the gashes on his leg. Besides the odd twitch or small sound, the bard had stayed peacefully still through it all, up until it she poured a potion onto the wound to help fight infection.

"This will produce a burning sting before calming to numb the wound, you may need to hold him down." She'd warned before pouring the dark oily liquid into the deep cuts. Jaskier had indeed shot up with a pained shout, eyes instantly finding the Witcher before flitting to his wound. A hand on his chest and another on his uninjured leg to stop him kicking around too much worked in mostly stilling him, as the bard moaned and pleaded.

"Gods it hurts, Ge-Geralt am I dying, I can't die Geralt, I can't... Aargh, oh gods make it stop... C-cut it off if you have to. No! They don't have to amputate do they? Please tell me they don't, I-I... I don't want to loose my leg, don't let them take it-"

"Jaskier!" Geralt growled out, voice softening as paniced fever clouded blue finally focused on his own. "Calm, you'll be fine. You're not dying and nobody is taking your leg." The struggling bard's sudden kick of energy didn't last long and he was soon sinking back into the cot, tired eyes drooping as the numbing effects kicked in. Breathing out a soft, "promise?" as his consciousness gave out once more.

"Promise." The Witcher didn't know if the other would hear but the word slipped out none the less. The glint of needle and thread soon drew his attention back to the healer who was sending him a concerned look, as she prepared to stich the wounds shut.

"He's a bard." Geralt shruged in reply, "He loves to over dramatise."

Before long Jaskier was all patched up and tucked away safely in the cot, the healer setting aside a vial holding a decoction she said she'd mix with warm tea and give the bard when next he stired to help fight the fever. Apparently she had lost a friend to the water hag and was more than inviting once hearing he had slain it. She informed Geralt the alderman always turned in early so it was unlikely he could turn in the hunt till morning, but offered him share a meal as she got back to her supper even offering some of the carrots she grew herself for Roach. Telling him he was more than welcome to use the old shed out back to store his saddle and bags if his horse needed a break from it.

He had taken her up on all her offers, Roach had certainly earned those carrots and a night free of the mud ridden saddle. The drizzle had finally stopped and there was a break in the clouds as he removed the saddle from Roach's back, with a little luck the weather was finally clearing. The mare had made a bit off a fuss when he'd first approached but quickly calmed once he'd informed her the Jaskier was okay, thanking her for finding him in the first place. The bard's lute caught his eye as he set the saddle in the shed, he'd get the strap replaced once he received his pay, that wasn't what drew him to it though. The base of instrument's case was cracked and coated in the rottified slimey membrane that coated a drowner's skin.

Rain alone would not rid the case of the sludge so taking it back in with him, he took up seat near the bard's bedside and set about cleaning it with his own concoction he used to clean monster fluids and grime from his own saddle and leathers. The damage to the instrument's case made something tighten in his chest, how dire must it have been for Jaskier to use his beloved lute as a weapon. Strangley enough he felt some comfort in the fact the instrument inside itself remained unharmed, it seemed not so long ago he had once wanted nothing more than to smash that very noise maker into splinters.

"I'll make up the other cot for you before I turn in, so you can get some rest too Witcher." The healer said some time later, breaking Geralt from his thoughts. He looked to the woman who was currently feeding the feverish poet the decoction and tea she'd brewed up. Jaskier wasn't quite coherent but he was active enough to slowly sip at the warm brew.

"No need, I can rest without a bed." Geralt assured, "You may need it should another need healing."

"With you having killed the monster in the mire I'm sure I'll have fewer patience for the time being." She smiled as she set the cup aside and shifting Jaskier so he once again lay flat. Hushing him as she pulled the blanket up to his shoulder to let him rest. "Never the less I'll make it up, just incase you should change your mind."

If she was to make it anyway maybe he would, but for now he'd keep watch just a while longer.


	2. Chapter 2

Jaskier awoke with a start and a lingering sense of falling, darting somewhat upwards with a gasp before exhaustion had him sinking back into the pillow. Which was odd in its own sense as one, he'd just woke and sleep usually tended to fend off exhaustion and two, last he recalled he was up a tree with a mob of hungry drowners circling like sharks below. Stirred by the sent of his injured leg. Not in a nice warm eh... half comfy bed, though it was certainly a plesent change. Surely it had not all been but a dream? He reached down to investigate the injured leg, ghosting his fingers over the spot where the creature's claws had tore into his flesh, a tiny brush, barely a touch at all. Burning pain shot through his leg all the same and his fingers flinched back from his leg as he drew in a hissed breath. Nope not a dream, definitely not a dream.

"That's going to be quite sore for a while I'd avoid proding it for the time being." A feminine voice spoke and his eyes darted across the room to find a middle aged woman standing in the doorway to the room he was in.

"Oh, uh, hello." He said, the woman wasn't ringing any bells in his mind, he was pretty sure he'd not met her before. "I'm sorry, I'm a little lost, how- where am I and who are you?"

"My name's Hilda and I'm the town healer, your friend brought you here so I could tend to your injuries." The woman replied, as she crossed the room and placed her palm against his forehead. Oh, that would explain all the dried plants hanging on the wall and the bottles of various substances. For a moment there he was a little worried he was to have woken in some crazy witch's room again. "Hmm, still signs of fever. How do you feel?"

"Tired and sore, I guess. Maybe a little stiff, but I was sat up a tree for two days so I guess that's probably expected." Jaskier answered, nose crinkling as the woman made him drink some bitter liquid from a small vial. "Wait... friend?"

He wasn't with a friend, he's traveled between towns with random farmers and caravans, even an odd religious group at one point that had stopped at several strangly carved figgures that looked more like devils than any god he's ever heard of before, to pray along the way. He was certainly not ever traveling with those weirdos again. While the roads were safer in numbers, he'd been alone since Geralt had snapped at him and wished him gone.

So he didn't have a friend with him and he didn't know anyone in town. He'd not been this way in his travels before and hadn't been in town long enough to get to know anyone.

"The Witcher." Hilda stated, as she continued to fussing over him.

"Witcher?" Now he was even more confused, he'd thought the Witcher had left him to the drowners, what with fucking off with his coin and leaving him stuck up a tree for two days. Perhaps the one eyed bastard's guilt had gotten the better of him.

"Yes, white hair, not much for conversation. He's out front seeing to his horse at the moment." She hummed, making her way to the door once more. "While you are up you should have something to eat, Ill be back with a bowl of broth in just a moment."

Geralt... that was unexpected. He didn't even know the man was in the area, but then he'd been purposely trying to avoid hearing talk of the White Wolf ever since they parted ways. He didn't want to hear of the Witcher's possible heroics, not while he was going through a bit of a rough patch himself. Turns out mopey downtrodden bard's aren't very popular in these parts, so he was almost back to the point of stuffing bread in his pants again.

Aah, old times.

He was halfway through the broth he'd been brought when Geralt entered the room, he didn't come close, just lingered in the doorway. "You're up."

"Well still in bed," Jaskier pointed out as he looked over at the man. "Not quite on my feet yet, don't think my leg would hold, but other wise, yes. Though I am rather- my gods what in the world is _that_?" His eyes caught suddenly on the hideous wrinkled, blue and grey head held by the hair in the witcher's hand.

"Water hag, the healer asked if she could have its tongue." Geralt answered, though Jaskier couldn't help but notice the other didn't venture any closer. The bard really, really didn't want to know what the healer planed to use that for.

"Oh, well that's just typical isn't it. I'm stuck up a tree meanwhile your off on a hunt worthy of song." The bard pouted, setting aside his bowl and sinking back into the pillow with a huff.

"Hmm," Geralt grunted, "it was more mud slinging in a storm than anything."

"You fought it during the storm," Jaskier groaned, throwing his arms out to his sides somewhat dramatically as he lamented. "Of course it was durring the storm, nothing makes for an epic ballad like a deadly battle of Witcher against a gruesome foe in the midst of a raging storm. Oh the crowds it would have drawn, but no, all I got was the tail of a foolish bard chased up a tree by drowners..."

"Right. Well I'm off to collect the coin for this." Geralt cut in, holding up the head before stalking out of the building and leaving the bard to his wallowing.

"R-right." Jaskier let out a sigh as the Witcher left, the other certainly seemed eager enough to leave, Geralt may have saved him but that didn't necessarily mean the man had forgiven.

Geralt might like to try and keep up the whole brooding, stoic Witcher who only works if there is enough coin on offer persona, but he knows better. He knows the other man doesn't just do it for the coin, he genuinly likes to help when needed. He's seen Geralt help a farmer fix the wheel on his wargon after wolves had spooked his horse and sent it off road. Was there when the Witcher turned down a newly widowed mother's coin after slaying the beast that killed her husband, so she could afford medicine for her sick daughter.

So just because Geralt had saved him from the drowners he was certain he would fall prey to, didn't mean the man wasn't still mad. The Witcher may not yet be back in the mood for company, or putting up with a nuisance bard trailing him around. Jaskier wasn't an idiot, despite having done some rather stupid things in his life. He knew Geralt had spent the majority of his long, long life as a lone wolf, the Witcher wasn't used to company, especially constant company with no battle skill determined to follow him even into potentially dangerous situations. He also knew that Jaskier, or Julian Aflred Pankratz, or Dandelion as known to some, whatever name he might go by could be kind of annoying and tended to wear on other's nerves with time. People just tired of him and he wasn't always the best at figuring when he was overstaying his welcome.

So if the man still needed time to himself to work through his grievances, or wounded pride, whatever it was that had Geralt snarling so violently up top that mountain who was he to argue. He would repay whatever necessary to compensate the man for saving his sorry butt and dragging him to a healer, be it coin, song or continued peace from his presence(or lack there of) and leave Geralt to himself. Continuing to try and avoid the Witcher until next they are destined to bump into each other.

Speaking of songs...

Jaskier scanned the room desperately for his beloved lute, spotting it nearby to his left by an old wooden chair perched between his bed and the next. Close enough he could grip it without stretching too far, though he still winced as the movement pulled at the stitches in his leg. It's case was freshly polished and cleaned and he couldn't help but feel a swell of warmth in his chest at the familiar smell of the oil used. It smelt just like Roach's saddle and bags, it's strap was still in two and part of him dreaded the damage it may have taken as he took the instrument out.

A desperate day indeed when a bard is forced to use his precious instrument as a weapon.

Relief washed over him as he found other than being a little scuffed up his lute was left undamaged. The scratches would clear up well enough with a little wax and care. He strumbed a chord or two lazily before returning the instrument to it's case. He was still feeling awefully exhausted and a nap was sounding very welcoming right now, so settling back once more he let his eyelids slowly droop shut.

...

"Grotesque muck monsters... No, no, that won't do." Jaskier muttered to himself, tweaking the notes strummed on his lute by a single chord with a shake of his head. Nose scrunching as he set the instrument beside him in favour of scribbling out the line in his note book.

"Bog beast..." That one wasn't much better. "Demons of the deep. Oh, yes, yes I like that one."

"Working on your next song?" Geralt's gruff voice interrupted from the doorway, and the bard looked over in surprise.

"Geralt! I didn't think- I mean- your back." Part of him had been certain the other wasn't to return, not expecting to see the man again until they next crossed paths. "I wouldn't really call it a song so much as a tale of warning. I was thinking of calling it 'Never trust a one eyed Witcher with a cat around his neck.' I know, I know the titles a little long but I feel it really gets the message across."

"One eyed witcher?" The white haired Witcher inquired, crossing the room to claim the chair the lute had sat on. "The one Hilda mentioned passed through a couple days back I take it."

"The very bastard, yes." Jaskier spat.

"What did the fool do to earn himself the scorn and a song of warning from the mighty bard and friend of Witchers?" A hint of amusement in white haired Witcher's tone.

"Oh I don't know, took my coin then fed me to the drowners." The poet replied with a huff, glaring down at his notes.

"He robbed you?"

"Not exactly, I willingly gave him the coin." Jaskier shook his head, though his reply only seemed to add to the Witcher's confusion.

"You paid him to feed you to drowners?"

"What? No."

"I'm lost." Geralt admitted exasperatedly. "Start from the begining."


	3. Chapter 3

"To believe my luck, finding a Witcher here of all places... not that its particulary unlikely for one of your own to be in such a place. Witchers do travel the land looking for monsters to slay for coin after all, so running into one in a town that has a notice, several actually, about a violent monster lurking in the mire not far from here isn't so far fetched. It's just that they say there are so few of your kind left. Are you to kill the monster of the mire? The towns folk seem very eager for it gone." The man he trailed behind remained silent but that didn't at all phase the bard.

"Not much for talking are you? A Witcher thing perhaps, I always though it just Geralt who wasn't much of a talker but perhaps it's a Witcher trait. I don't thonk Ive even got your name? Oh, but the timing! I could not ask for better. I am in desperate need of new material, inspiration for my music, no one likes a bard who only plays the same three songs over and my latest pieces have not been very popular. Apparently no one cares anymore for tales of sorrow and betrayal or heartbreak and lost love." He lamented with a drawn out sigh.

"But what else have I to draw upon of late. My very best friend in the whole wide world cast me out atop a mountain, in the middle of nowhere mind you. Apparently I am the bane his very existence. Or something of the sorts. And my latest love left me, she may not have been much to look at, but she was boisterous and witty, brilliant at cards and her laugh... Ohoooho I've never heard a more melodious sound. Possibly the greatest three days of my life and the most glorious night, my god the things she could do. I was smitten, hopelessly head over heels, though her the love of my life, I'd have done anything for her and then I woke in the morning to find her gone. Along with my coin purse, my favourite jacket and the silver pendant gifted to me by the ever lovely Lady Evelyn from Toussaint."

"I supose I should be thankful though, at least she left me my lut-" A strong rough hand clamped over his mouth in a tight grip, silencing him and his own hands rose in show of surrender instinctively. He'd not even noticed the Witcher round on him the movement had been so swift and now he found the single Amber cat like eye glaring down at him, the chain of the cat medallion around his neck jingling as the Witcher spat out a terse.

"Shut up! Your incessant yammering is giving me a headache and will scare off everything within a two mile radiance."

"That's quite the grip you have, very strong, though I guess that's a given, what with swinging-" Jaskier murmured out, once he was released, rubbing at his now tender jaw and recieving a low growl and sharp look from the other man. "-Okay, sorry, sorry. Got it, no more talking. Silent. I can be silent."

Picking up his own pace to a half jog to catch up to the Witcher who had started on his way again without waiting, following quietly as they grew close to the grove of trees and the man turned down a less used trail. He really had been lucky to find a Witcher, lucky again finaly after a string of bad luck. His dragon epic hadn't turned out very epic at all, it was kind of a bust, what with not actually having seen the dragon or found a viable witness to the events. Not after the unfairly harsh verbal assault Geralt had thrown at him, the man had obviously needed his space to deal with his own demons and he'd needed his own space to wallow in his own misery for a bit.

Honestly Geralt's words had hit a lot harder than he'd expected, probably because the guy was the only real friend he had. Sure he knew a lot of people and was well acquainted with many of them, some he'd known twice as long as the Witcher yet none were as close as he'd felt with the White Wolf. Certainly none he trusted more, nobles and aristocrats may be all smiles and pleasantries to your face but they only ever really look out for themselves. While fellow troubadours friendly as they may be were also rivals, those in brothels only cared when there was coin involved, and drunkards and gamblers were quick to turn on you if you overstayed your welcome.

While he knew he got on Geralt's nerves at time, annoying people was apparently his secret talent, and the Witcher could be rather harsh with his words. What Geralt had said to him on the mountain was unnecessarily cruel, even for him.

So yes there was no hope of getting any of the story from Geralt, the mercenaries were all dead and the dwarves had been stuck outside the cave and missed all the action as well. He had no desire of chasing down Yeniffer and didn't want to go anywhere near the old man and his two freaky-ass bodyguards who had somehow all miraculously come back from the dead. He had no dragon or epic battle to write about.

And the events of late have been far from inspiring, he was in dire need of a beast or monster to write of. So when the one eyed Witcher with murky dark hair and a cat arround his neck had stumbled into the tavern he'd rented a room at, it had been a blessing. The stoic man had agreed to find him a monster for inspiration for what little coin he had left after that disastrous fling two weeks back, and things were finally looking up for him again.

"Sooo anything in particular I should know about this creature you are taking me to see?" Yeeeah, silent wasn't really his thing. "You know poisonous venom, razor sharp claws, the ability to cloak appearance? I've heard vampires can do that. Acidic or otherwise fatal saliva of the spitting type, ah... oh, that mind trickery thing they say sirens do to lure in their victims. I'm just listing off potential dangers here, hallucinogenic spores? Is that a thing? It's getting rather dark, supose the clouds aren't helping there. I do hope it doesn't rain again the weather's been miserable enough already, I'm never going to get all this mud off my boots..."

"...So I had no choice but to get out of there as quickly as possible, lest I loose something I'd very much like left intact." Soon enough the Witcher had led him to a small clearing by the small river that cut through the woods.

Stumbling through the bushes and further into the clearing, Jaskier looked around in the dimming dusk light. "So what exactly am I looking for here?" There were no obvious signs of a monster nearby, no claw marks or obviously broken branches. No unusual sounds or growls, no foul smells, alot of the creatures Geralt had hunted had dung and rotting half eaten corpses littering the surroundings of their nests. Here there was just the grass and mud of the river's bank, stepping a little closer to the waters edge he peered across the narrow river. It was a little hard to make out at the distance in the dying light but there was what looked to be a dead cow on the other side, ribs visible where something had clearly been eating it. Though the animal looked as though it had simply expired after getting bogged in the mud, poor thing.

Great here he is trying to find inspiration outside the depressing and the Witcher leads him to a dead farm animal. He was promised a monster so where was it, the Witcher had simply lead him to a bloody river... Oh, no, nonono, if the Witcher thought he had coughed up the last of his coin for this he was dead wrong.

"Please tell me you didn't lead me all the way down here, through this miserable weather and mud, for drowners. I paid for you to find me a monster worthy of inspiration, not bloody drowners. If I'd wanted drowners I'd have sought out a fisherman, nobody wants to hear a song about drowners they hear enough of them in fisherman tales." He griped turning back to the Witcher, because if that was indeed all the man had to offer he wanted his coin back. "Witcher?!" The spot where the other man had been standing was empty and Jaskier sputtered as he scanned the edges of the clearing for any sign of the man.

"Oh, no. No, no you don't! This is a scam, I demand my coin back, right now mister!" He yelled into the shadows beneath the trees, not entirely sure where the Witcher had vanished to, certainly he couldn't have gotten far. He stepped forwards to hunt the man down before he could get too far, when something snagged his ankle, sending him toppling face down into the mud hard enough to knock the wind from him.

It took a moment in his winded state to realise he was moving, being dragged backwards and he scrabbled to grab at the grass and mud beneath him. The grass tearing and slipping through his fingers as he twisted to look at the creature pulling him towards the water. Oddly enough it wasn't so much the slimey blue river dweller that smelt of rot that sent his heart to overdrive and his mind into a frenzy, but the deep dark depths of the river in which he was being dragged to. While he considered himself a man of many talents, swimming was not one of them.

In his panic driven haste he didn't think twice as he swung his lute over his shoulder and swung the instrument at the drowner's head. The creature letting out a half gurgled screech as it let go of his leg, as the instrument smacked into the side of its head with a crack. Scrabbling to his feet and almost tripping over himself in his hast to run as one of its brethren lunged out of the water at him. He took off at a sprint the moment he gained his footing, hearing gurgles and splashing and chancing a glance over his shoulder to see several of the monsters leaping from the water to follow.

And oh boy did he wish he didn't look back because now he was certain they had taken chase rather than sinking back into the river's depths. He'd really, really hoped they'd give up and leave him be once they crashed through the bushes of the clearing back into the tree line. He could barely make out where he was going in the dwindling light, as branches and twigs whipped and snagged at him. One let out a growl, it sounded to be right on his heels and against his better judgment risked another peek over his shoulder. It was right there on his tail, and then his foot hit something.

His boot snagging on a log or rock, something hard at least, he didn't get the chance to see as he toppled forward with a yelp of surprise, the monsters claws catching him across his chest and side as he went down. Thankfully the leather strap of his lute took the majority of the attack, the claws little more than grazing his side thanks to the leather's protection. He tried to regain his footing as he stumbled but his right leg slipped out from under him as it skid through the mud, sending him skidding down a short incline mostly on his side.

He wasn't sure he could out run them, not when the blasted creatures seemed determined to keep up the chase. Especially when he could hardly even make out his surroundings, thinking quick, or perhaps not thinking at all he threw himself at the next thick tree he came across. Wrapping his arms and legs around it as he try to shimmy up it. He had once been quite adept at scaling trees when he was small, he was almost up to its branches when searing pain tore through his right leg, ripping a cry of pain from his throat as one of the drowners sunk its claws deep into his thigh.

Dragging excruciatingly through skin and muscle as it tried to pull him back down, clinging harder to the bark of the tree he swung his free leg back, kicking his heel back hard into the drowner's face. Its hold on his leg loosening at the impact as he then used it's head to boost him high enough to reach one of the thickened branches and pull himself onto it. He felt his instrument snag slightly as he pulled himself up and before he had a chance to stop it, what remained of the strap gave way and it plummeted back between the tree's roots.

The monsters snarling and jumping below in attempts to reach as he settled himself on the brach just out of their reach.

"Ha... Ha! Try and get me now you rotten bog dwellers!" Jaskier taunted as he tried to get his breath back, once he was safely out of reach. Praying the water dwelling creatures didn't posses the ability to climb trees themselves.

The searing white hot pain in his leg soon had his attention again as he looked down to assess the damage. That was a mistake as the sight of the amount blood bubbling out of the deep open gashes instantly had him feeling nauseous and feint. He'd never been particularly good with blood but you would think travelling around with a Witcher, one would be used to the sight and smell of blood and nasty wounds.

Somehow it was very different when it was his own blood.

Taking a moment to even his breaths and let the dizziness pass, he started working the bootlace from the boot on his injured leg. All the while carefully avoiding direct eye contact with the injury. Once the lace was free he drew in a deep breath and tied the cord off around his leg just above the wound to help stem the bleeding. Tossing the boot at the creatures still circling below with a growled out, "Scram! Go back to your river!"

The clouds that had been looming since that morning deciding to start a even drizzle then, as if to add to his rotten luck. The leaves and branches above him doing little to shield from the wet. Which was just the icing on the cake really, one Witcher wanted him gone and now this new Witcher may have achived that wish, because the damn things were still scurrying around the base of the damn tree. Settling himself as comforably as one can when straddling a branch and huddling a tree, he decided it wouldn't be too hard to wait the creatures out. They lived in rivers, lakes and ocean shores after all, how long could they possibly stay on land.

Annoyingly quite a while it would seem.

"The river is that way you fools, go back to it. You are suposed to live in water not on land, you halfwitted beasts." He called down to them. It had been hours, hours! And the things were still hounding him, seemingly just as energised in their efforts to try and get him down as when they started. Maybe they were nocturnal, he thought, the sun would be up soon and surely then they'd give up the hunt. He was freezing and tired and had sung nearly every song he had by the time the sky had started to gain light, the rain hadn't given up since it strated only alternating between heavy and sprinkles.

He was soaked through and the picking up wind had him shivering so bad he was practically vibrating on the spot, his fingers were going numb along with the toes on his unbooted foot. On the plus side however, the numbing cold had reduced the pain radiating in his leg significantly. The stain on his pants leg however, slowly continued to spread.

The monsters didn't leave with the comming of morning, the stubborn things lingered still. He shifted between cursing the creatures, shouting for help, with the hope that despite the foul weather the daylight might bring travellers. No one heard. The passing hours proved only to sap his voice along with his energy, as the sky grew darker once more, the wind howling and rain pouring down in buckets. Each drop like little needles as they hit his skin at the ferocity the wind had them pelting into him, the first clap of thunder worked in chasing away the sleep that was threatening to claim him. The storm seemed to encourage the drowners below as it threatened to knock him from his perch.

It was significantly harder to keep his grip on the bark when he could no longer feel his fingers and he had to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment as things threatened to start spinning. The storm seemed to rage on forever but eventually it died down, and he started his cries for help once more, even though his hopes of anyone passing by in such miserable weather was waning. By the time the day was drawing to an end once more, blood loss, cold and exhaustion had him muttring to himself just to try and keep his eyes open. He'd almost slipped from his perch twice already, his hands struggling to keep their grip and the drowners grew louder knowing their meal wasn't far off now.

He wouldn't be able to stay up here much longer and they knew it, he did too. His muttering died out and his eyes were refusing to stay open, and even though he knew it pointless he mustered up one final call of help. He tightened his hold as much as he could, as his eyes slipped shut, determined to hold on as long as he could, even if only for a minute or two. He'd rather not be conscious when the things ate him, one of the creatures let out a howling screech but they sounded so distant now, and somewhere deep through the fog as the word faded completly he could have sworn he heard his name.


	4. Chapter 4

"You're too trusting, bard." Geralt grunted out.

"Excuse me!" Jaskier pitched in disbelief. "If anything, you sir, are just as much to blame for-for leading me to believe Witchers to be honest, respectable and reliable."

Geralt snorted at that, leveling the other an incredulous look. "There is nothing respectable nor honourable about the school of the cat."

The sonneteer sunk back into his pillows with a petulant huff, "Yes well, they don't exactly teach Witcher schools at the bards college, Geralt."

"They don't teach never to give payment before the job's done either by the sounds." The Witcher snorted, standing and tracking back across the room to the pack he'd dumped by the door.

"Geralt of Rivia, was that just a jest I detected." The bard smirked, looking far to pleased of himself for someone who'd just days ago unthinkingly paid a man to lead him to his death.

"You're lucky to be alive." Geralt tossed over his shoulder as he pulled some of the supplies from his pack, including the bard's freshly washed and repaired outfit. The woman who'd repaired the garment had done a fairy decent job of tailoring a new pair of trousers from what was left of his old pair. The hue wasn't quite the same as the doublet but it was purple, and purple was purple right.

"I hadn't noticed, thank you for pointing that out." Jaskier replied sarcastically.

"I'm serious, Jaskier." Geralt snapped, turning back to the bard with a stern look. The man had almost died, he was still too weak to even get out of bed and the idiot was making jokes. He'd have been a meal for the drowners had Geralt not been there, if it weren't for Roach he'd not have found the bard at all. He'd have rode straight past and the drowners would have torn him apart as soon as he fell from that tree and then what. Eventually someone would stumble over Jaskier's remains and word would probably spread, eventually making its way to his own ears, and he'd have to live out the rest of his life feeling guilt over his last words to the man. "What the hell were you thinking. You pay Witchers to get rid of monsters not deliver you to them."

The younger man bristled, light blue eyes narrowing with an anger barely seen on the man. "Oh I don't know, perhaps I thought I'd shovel my own shit for a change." Those words hit harder than Geralt would ever like to admit. "What do you care anyway, you're the one who wanted me gone. Maybe this was life granting you that blessing, and you cannot try and pin this one on me, you were the one to intervene of your own volition."

"Jaskier-" Geralt exhaled, the bard's death would be far from a blessing, because as loathe as he may be to express it out loud he did care for the younger man. He'd never admit to 'very best friend in the whole wide world' but he was willing to admit to friend. The poet however obviously wasn't done yet, as he continued with his tirade.

"I did call out for help though, so I suppose you were only doing your job and I certainly wouldn't want to appear ungrateful. So, tell me Witcher what is the going rate of saving someones life? Not cheap I'd wager, considering the inconvenience I've no doubt caused you. What with not only having to go out of your way to slay the monsters to save the pest who's hounded you these last however many years but then having to drag his sorry self to a healer. I've no coin on me but I'll soon make more and I entend to pay in full, I always repay my debts-"

"Jaskier!" The bard did give slight pause as Geralt's voice grew in tone and volume, he didn't want the man's money. Jaskier owed him nothing, it was he who owed the other an apology, if the poet could just shut up long enough for him to get a word in. He held back the growl of frustration as the bard's anger deflated and he sunk back into the pillows at his back, yet kept talking.

"Your right, I'm being ungrateful. I'm sorry. You Just saved my life and here I am being ungracious, I've not even thanked you yet. So thank you Geralt, if not for you I'd no doubt be drowner food right now. I really do owe you a debt." The man's words were genuine however the small smile fell from his lips nearly as fast at it had graced them, as he straightened again. Brows lowering in a frown and one hand moving to rest on his hip as he started up once more, though his words no longer held the heat from his previous rant. He sounded more like a petulant child than anything, as he huffed.

"No. No! I'm still mad at you, that fillingless pie comment was one thing, but accusations of my being the shoveler of all things shit to fall upon you, as though I am some sort of jinx -and no I do not care whether such a thing is real or folktale-" Jaskier pointed accusingly as Geralt opened his mouth. "And the removal of my presence being a life blessing. I know I can be annoying at times and I often outstay my welcome, but I thought we were friends despite your grumblings, a-and that hurt Geralt! That really hurt."

"Look, I'm sorry okay! Is that what you want to hear. I treated you poorly and took my angers out on you when you didn't deserve it." Geralt snapped out much harsher than he'd intended. Because the damned bard stirred things inside him feelings and possible emotions that didn't even belong there in the first place, he didn't deal with feelings. Spent so damn long trying to push them all down that he didn't know how, so he turned them to one he did, frustration.

"I... W-well yes, but I wasn't expecting it." The bard stammered out in shock, "I- Okay wow, I didn't think Witchers did apologies. Not that I'm complaining, delivery was a little harsh, a little more snarled than one genuinely expects from a heartfelt apology but I'll accept it all the same and grant you my forgiveness."

"That's it." Geralt said, casting his eyes back to the bard with a look Jaskier had come to narrow down to either incredulity or 'you are an idiot', the two tended to go hand in hand so the bard had yet to distinguish between the two. "I unfairly turn my anger on you, blaming you for my troubles and wishing you gone, and all is forgiven just like that?"

"Yes. I mean you did just save my life and you are buying me dinner and a drin- no two drinks, of my choosing, once I am able to stand again, and you are my friend no matter how stubbornly you deny otherwise. Besides, Julian Alfred Pankratz doesn't hold grudges... Well he does but not against friends, so worry not I'd never wish apoplexy struck down upon you."

"I was a complete arse and you would forgive just like that?" Geralt prompted, ignoring the bard's amused murmur of "Your words." Before going on to say, "I don't buy it."

"How about just once in your life accepting a blessing when it comes your way, rather than questioning it." Jaskier scoffed teasingly.

Geralt let out a huff that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, "You are a strange man Jaskier." He turned back to sorting through the pack with a muttered. "I'll never know how I was duped into befriending someone like you."

"What was that, I didn't quite catch it?" The sonneteer asked, cupping his ear playfully.

"Nothing."

"Do my ears decieve or did the mighty White Wolf just admit to being friends." The cot creaked as the bedridden poet propped himself forward in excited amusement.

"You heard wrong, bard." Geralt huffed.

"Oh I definitely heard right, don't you deny it." The smirk was clear in his voice and Geralt couldn't help but groan for letting himself voice such words out loud. "Oh, I knew you liked me you big softy. Quick pass me my lute, I'm feeling inspired. Ooh I'm sensing an epic ballad here, of aspiring friendship, companionship and comradery, a tale of two bosom buddies and their valiant steed-"

"I'm leaving." The Witcher grunted, turning towards the door in threat to leave.

"Come now, Geralt, you would leave while your very best friend in the whole wide world is laying crittically injured in bed, would you?"

"It's certainly tempting." Geralt huffed, tossing the bard's newly repaired clothes at him.

The bundle of folded silk and brocade bouncing off his face still not enough to wipe off the face splitting grin, and Geralt couldn't help but find a small smile gracing his own lips.


End file.
